


markings

by writingfromthevoid (luciferxrising)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Nonsexual foodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 12:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferxrising/pseuds/writingfromthevoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The request comes out of nowhere, but then, he's used to Fenris asking strange things, "Hawke, let me borrow your shirt." or "Hawke, you need to make me cookies." but never "Hawke, undress, I want to paint your skin."</p>
            </blockquote>





	markings

The request comes out of nowhere, but then, he's used to Fenris asking strange things, "Hawke, let me borrow your shirt." or "Hawke, you need to make me cookies." but never "Hawke, undress, I want to paint your skin." He's also not sure where the elf got the big jar of chocolate sauce from, but that's a question for later. He'll probably blame Isabela anyway. The point is, no matter how strange, he has a hard time denying Fenris of anything, so half an hour later he's on his back on the bed, looking at his lover dipping a slender brush into the sauce. 

"Whatcha gonna draw?" he asks teasingly, "Do you take requests?" but he gets no answer. 

The first touch of the brush is cold, and he shivers, wondering why Fenris hadn't just heated up the sauce first. The chilled line draws down his bottom lip, over his chin, first on one, then the other side. The two lines stop where his beard begins, then join in the middle where his neck starts, then go straight down to his chest. His mind catches up when the lines on his neck branch out to the sides, and he studies Fenris, the white lines that contrast so beautifully with his mocha skin.

"Your tattoos." he breathes. Still no reply, but the elf does flick up his gaze at him for a second. Hawke smiles and looks down at his body, dark brown lines spreading over the lighter shade of his skin, a mirror image of the elf above him. Or a shadow, perhaps, showing what the other has hidden beneath his clothes. 

Fenris works quickly, his hand steady, and he's soon done, standing at the side of the bed and looking down on him. Obviously the back of his body isn't done, and Hawke has more hair and a broader built, but the sight of himself covered in the same marks makes him smile widely. 

"So," he starts, drawing Fenris' attention, "are you going to lick this up now?" The joke barely gets a reaction out of the man at first, but then he spots the hint of a smile on his face. A slender hand rests on his cheek, then the elf leans down to kiss him softly.

His chin is covered in sauce when he pulls back, and Hawke starts laughing so hard Fenris threatens to make him sleep on the couch that night.

They don't talk about it after, and they don't need to. He understands.


End file.
